Mortality
by Gil-dae
Summary: Helm's Deep: Theoden sent out a scout party. Aragorn went with them and has not returned, leaving Legolas to worry over his lover. What will happen if he does not come back? The fate of men hangs upon him, but has the king fallen so soon?
1. Prelude of the Tempest

Mortality 

Chapter 1: Prelude of the Tempest

            This one I think will actually make it past only like eight chapters or something!  But I'm not sure.  I _want it to be that long, but what I want rarely happens, so..._

            I would like to say that this story will go on past Helm's Deep, but I just put that as the summary because I couldn't think of anything better.  I suck at summaries.  So...

            I must say, if you don't like slash, don't read this.  Legolas/Aragorn!  Don't like?  Don't read, don't flame!  Savvy?             

            Read and Enjoy!  

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           Legolas looked out over the Deeping Wall, the sun setting and glaring down off the mountainside into his eyes.  He turned away, instead looking back to the plain.  There was no movement upon it save for the steady march of a few black dots, which Legolas knew to be that of the armies of Saruman.  There was no lone figure, come back to him now in the time of need, no dot staggering across the distance to the Deeping-coomb.  

            "Legolas, you still stand here and await his return?" a voice said behind him.  Legolas turned to see Éomer walking towards him, Gimli by his side.  Legolas sighed and looked back to the plain.  His eyes glazed over, but he did not let the tears fall.  

            "Come on, lad, you know that Aragorn will return," Gimli comforted him.  "The other scouts will return."  Legolas shook his head though and stepped a few paces away from both of them.  

            "Why did they send him out when they knew they would need him later?  He is a valiant fighter, not a scout to watch the approach of the enemy.  They will be here ere midnight, I suppose.  Should they need no other counsel?  Must they send out precious warriors to watch them, track their movements?"  He whirled around to face Éomer.  "You, you have heard what they have to say!  Tell me what Théoden King thought when he sent out the scouts?"  Éomer narrowed his eyes, and he took a few steps forward.  

            "Do you question the decisions of the King?  He knows that sending out scouts could lose valuable men.  He knew quite well the dangers, even of sending out Aragorn, which, if you would like to know, he advised against, but it was Aragorn's choice to ride with them.  What would you say we do then, elf?" Éomer spat the last word.  Gimli looked up at him warningly, but Legolas smiled wickedly.  

            "You do not trust me, do you?  What is an elf to a people like you?  Evil, I suppose, though I do not wish it to you.  Aragorn would not befriend one who he did not trust," Legolas reminded Éomer, "and you should not so easily question, not upon the eve of battle when all hands are needed to unite against our enemy."  

            "I admit," Éomer responded, "that I am wary of your kind, but I only say now that the King's choice was a wise one..."

            "Wise to waste lives when all lives are required!  Do you not see how strong our foes are?  There is little chance that they will return!"  He bowed his head now, and when he looked back, tears clouded his eyes.  "Excuse me, for I only wonder to the means in which your king makes his choices, and as I see, I should not have spoken."  He walked away, leaving Éomer fuming behind him.  Gimli looked back and forth with raised eyebrows.  

            "Well," he said, clearing his throat.  Éomer glowered at him and leaned on the wall.  

            "Is your elf friend always like this?" he wondered.  Gimli thought for a moment.  

            "Nay," he responded, "but, he cares deeply for Aragorn, as you have seen, and when Aragorn's life is in great danger, he gets just a little testy, let's say."  Éomer snorted.  

            "I've noticed.  Still, I do not like him.  He has an ill-favored look.  For all his fair appearance, I do not trust him."  Gimli crossed his arms now.  

            "Do not judge him so soon.  There are many surprises to Legolas, as I learned.  Can you see that?  He is an elf who has befriended a dwarf!  And I am a dwarf who trusted my friendship with him."  Éomer smiled at Gimli.  

            "That I can understand, for I know of the great rivalry between the two."  

            "Just let him cool down a bit.  He is a good companion to have in battle, I must say.  Once Aragorn returns, I assure you he will be lighter in his mood, for only that can dampen his spirits.  But come, for battle marches towards us.  We have much to do."  With that, Gimli walked away.  Éomer cast his glance back to the plain before following after the dwarf.  

***

            Legolas walked along the wall.  Still, everywhere he went, men gave him strange looks, glaring at him, growling low or snorting.  He felt the same distrust radiating from them that he did from Éomer.  

            _So everywhere I turn are enemies, he grumbled.  He sidestepped an oncoming kick from one boy, who spit at him afterwards.  Legolas ignored it and made for the inner rooms of Helm's Deep, hoping to find some protection there.  There was no point in remaining at the Wall.  When Aragorn returned, he would return, and there was nothing more Legolas could do about it.  _

            Still, he could not keep his mind off that human.  Every sense told him that Aragorn could come back just fine, even if none of the other scouts did.  But his heart told him else wise.  Aragorn had no chance to return.  

            Suddenly, Legolas brushed past a long strand of hair, a smaller figure than most.  He looked down to see Éowyn rushing by.  

            "Lady Éowyn!" he called.  She whirled around and rushed to Legolas, breathless.  

            "The scouts have not returned, have they.  Lord Aragorn has not returned."  Legolas shook his head slowly, and Éowyn gulped back a lump in her throat.  Her eyes turned to the almost set sun; tears glistened in the fragmented light.  "He must return," she whispered.  "He will return before the battle."  She grabbed Legolas' arm.  "He will return."  Legolas nodded solemnly.  

            "We can only trust to hope and his skill, for he wanders at death's doorstep."  The words caught in his throat, but he swallowed the lump until later.  Here, in public, especially in the presence of the Lady Éowyn, he would keep himself composed.  There was still a chance.  

            "Legolas," she whispered, pulling him lower so she could whisper in his ear.  "Legolas, promise me this.  If Aragorn...if the worst should befall...him...let me fight in battle in his place, so I might earn my glory now."  Legolas looked into her cold eyes and felt the same hunger for death that Aragorn spoke of.  Her tears were gone and her jaw set.  She would search for death if Aragorn fell.  

            "If he does not return," he vowed, "not you, but we."  She started a bit, but Legolas took both of her hands, and she nodded once.  He smiled grimly and stood up to his full height.  "We shall go into battle for him," he murmured before striding in the other direction.  Éowyn glanced once more at the twilit sky before hurrying away.  Suddenly, she stopped and turned back.  

            "Legolas!" she cried.  Legolas caught her voice above the din of the men, and he pushed through to her.  She motioned that they should walk, and he fell into step beside her.  Legolas sensed that it was not for clear reasons that she recalled him but merely for the companionship.  For a long while, they strode up and down the battlements in silence, the oncoming line of fires drawing closer.  It would only be a matter of time now before the Uruk-hai was upon them.  Or were they already upon the far reaches of their army?

            After a pause, Éowyn said, "You knew Aragorn since he was a child, did you not?"  Legolas looked down at her and chose a free spot on the wall to lean his elbows on, looking out over the side.  A sad smile crossed his lips.  

            "Yes, I knew him.  Ever since I came to Rivendell one day and he was there, practicing his sword fighting on the grounds by moonlight."  He sighed.  "Aragorn, or Estel, as he was known then, explained that Elrond did not want his using that area for his practice, but he preferred it.  He was around twenty then.  Ever since, I cannot remember a time when I did not think of him or hunger for him or was by his side."  Éowyn made a little noise in her throat, and Legolas shook his head to clear his eyes of the mist.  

            "You have known him so long, so what do you think?  Will he return?"  Legolas almost chided her for such foolish thoughts.  Of course, he will return!  How could he not?  He was Aragorn, son of Arathorn, heir to the throne of Númenor.  He was lover to Legolas of Mirkwood.  If he did not return...

           "Yes," he said comfortingly, "he will return.  That army, no matter what happened, would not overtake Aragorn.  He has lived through worse perils than just that."  He laughed hollowly.  "I suppose he finds running from ten thousand Uruk-hai a simple task!"  His voice broke at the end, and Éowyn gasped to see Legolas shaking.  "Just a simple task."  

            "I am sorry I brought this matter up," she apologized hastily, trying to comfort the elf as best she could.  Legolas took a deep breath, his eyes closed.  He finally calmed down and rested a hand on her shoulder.  

            "There are no apologies to make.  Aragorn will return.  We must only await it."  

            He wished he could believe his own words.  

***

            "All men to the wall!  Hurry!  They are coming!  Hurry!" the men shouted, forming the lines of archers as they prepared for the oncoming line of Uruk-hai.  It would be no more than an hour before they came in range of the arrows, and the Men of Rohan scrambled to make the best of this fight, even if they were to lose.  

            Éomer and Gimli stood more towards the gate than the rest.  Gimli shifted nervously and expected for Legolas to be with him, but the elf was nowhere in sight.  Éomer looked down at his short companion and patted him on the shoulder.  

            "The elf will come," he said coldly.  "And if he doesn't..."

            "You have no proof that Legolas is in any way, shape, or form a traitor or against you," Gimli growled.  "Don't go off on that now."  Éomer shrugged and focused his attention back on the fiery dots on the horizon, even while Gimli's mind wandered to the elf.  

            Of course, Legolas would not come.  No, Legolas stood far away, near to the center of the wall, amongst the human archers, but beside him was one who was not an archer, or did not have a bow, a smaller figure than most, slighter of build.  Both held themselves very rigid, as if keeping back some flood inside that threatened to burst.  

            "Legolas," the figure whispered, but Legolas shushed it.  

            "Now is not the time, Éowyn," he retorted, "for in battle we will find him.  Aragorn will find us."  

            The man had not returned, and it both of them every last spark faded of hope.  Legolas felt like a drained elf, weary, his limbs hanging off him needlessly.  His eyes were dull other than one little light, but that was the light of death.  He gave up praying for Aragorn's return.  There would be no return.  

            "Aragorn?" one man sneered beside Legolas; he had caught just the last sentence of the elf's words.  "He your friend, _elf_?  Then I'd say good riddance!"  Legolas whirled on the man, nostrils flaring.  He was no small man though, tall and broad, with a well muscled body.  Legolas glared up at him.  

            "Why would you say that?" he spat.  The man shrugged and looked around.  

            "Anyone to befriend an elf must be up to ill.  What good comes from an elf?  They have strange tongues and "fair phrases," but I think they are all up to ill!  Don't you think so?" he addressed the group.  There was a collective agreement around them.  "Yes, what have the elves done other than sit around and sing their little songs in forests?  Aragorn, though possibly a good fighter, could be not much better.  He is of no worth than more then a disposable scout."  Legolas' blood boiled.  

            "Disposable scout?!" he roared.  "Do you dare call Aragorn a disposable scout?  You have the nerve to insult the elves, for which man would not have lived in the first place, afterwards going to the lengths of insulting Aragorn!  He is a noble and valiant man, with more courage and strength than all of you combined!"  

            "Why has he not returned then?"  A boy piped in.  "Why is Aragorn not here?"  Legolas stopped, his heart beating a little quicker as he glanced at the line.  It had stopped just out the reach of the archers, and the Uruk-hai waited in silence.  Legolas calmly took a breath before answering.  

            "Could you face ten thousand Uruk-hai?" he asked.  "Could you take all of them with only a few scouts by your side?  I fear that not even the great Aragorn, son of Arathorn, Ranger from the North, could withstand that force for even a little while."  His voice trailed off, and he hung his head.  When Legolas looked back up, malice burned in his eyes, all the more powerful by the tears there too.  

            "Personally, I don't trust the word of an elf," the first man said after a pause.  "Especially this one.  He has an ill feeling."  

            Suddenly, the warrior beside Legolas stepped up, glaring into the man's face.  

            "Can you not even tell friend from foe when you have clear examples standing out there and here?" Éowyn scolded.  "Upon the eve of battle you bicker over one elf?  Can you not see?  Your enemy lies out there, not here!  Legolas is a fine elf who will fight alongside you.  You must focus on the enemy at hand.  They will crush you if you do not."  She was shaking now, and she stepped back to where she was.  "Do not argue.  You might die and find yourself wrong, and then, for your entire afterlife, you shall contemplate what went wrong with the elf."  Those words struck a nerve.  It appeared that all eyes focused now on the army, at the menacing, endless, group of Uruk-hai, their mind bent only on destruction.  Their minds filled with images of gruesome figures and twisted faces, swords gleaming in the moonlight, roaring at the hapless victims.  

            Even with Legolas, this struck a bad chord.  His own unrest, he knew, was because of unsettled feelings, worry; concern that he would leave Aragorn dead with their last parting moments being tears.  Slowly, his parting conversation floated back.  There, he saw Aragorn's pained face as he spoke those few painful words to Legolas.  

            _"I will ride with the scouts, Legolas.  Théoden has commanded that five men ride out, and for their protection, I volunteered to join them."  His eyes begged for Legolas to understand.  Legolas merely stood there in a state of sudden shock.  _

_            "But you will die," he whispered.  "You will die."  Aragorn smiled sadly and clapped his hand on Legolas' shoulder.  _

_            "No, I will not die.  You should know that.  I will return from there, with the scouts."  Suddenly, Legolas' shock turned to anger, and he brushed off Aragorn's hand.  _

_            "Why are you doing this?" he wondered.  "The army will be here, no matter what you do, whether or not Théoden has people watching their approach.  I could tell him how far they are, when they will be here!  He need not waste lives."  _

_            "Legolas, Théoden...he is not fully trustworthy of you.  Elves are new to them, for many have never set eyes upon your fair kind."  _

_            "Oh, so they cannot trust the word of an elf?" he laughed coldly.  Aragorn stepped a few paces away, gathering some of his gear.  Legolas crossed his arms over his chest and set his jaw in anger.  _

_            "So he must send out scouts to report," Aragorn finished.  _

_            "Then let me go with you, if you will not turn away!" Legolas offered, but Aragorn slowly shook his head.  _

_            "No, your place is here.  If something were to happen, the men of Rohan would need both you and Gimli.  They trust him, but you would know what to do, are more skilled than he is."  Aragorn reached out to hold Legolas, but he whirled away from the man.  Aragorn could not comfort him with sweet words, could not make him see the man's way, not this time.  _

_            "I know this is folly, and no matter what you do, I will not budge from that.  Théoden is wasting lives!  Even he should know this!"  Legolas turned sharply on Aragorn, and the man almost showed a hint of fear at the fuming elf.  "Aragorn, do not go!  This is madness, following these suicidal orders.  You.will.come.back.dead!"  The words were too much for Legolas, and without a sound, he stormed from the room and down the hall, leaving Aragorn in silence.  _

He did not actually see Aragorn leave, but Legolas went to the battlements afterwards and discerned a group of riders in the Coomb.  

            Suddenly, Legolas heard a commotion and snapped out of his memories.  Around him, many things seemed to be happening at once.  The archers had brought up their bows, and Legolas looked down to see the army advancing.  All around the men waited with baited breath, and Legolas raised his own bow, an arrow to the string.  There was no more time to reminisce on Aragorn.  No, now it was time to find him.  He cast one last glance at Éowyn, who held her hand at her sword's hilt.  She nodded once before Legolas turned to devote his attention to the battle.  

            But another noise caught his ear in that same instant.  He had heard it before, shouting he blocked out to focus on the Uruk-hai, but now, he listened to it just for a bit.  There was some shouting, words that sounded like "gate" and "man."  Legolas' senses perked up, and he turned his full attention to that.  

            "Open the gates and get help!" a man called.  "Help him inside."  Legolas slowly lowered his bow, all worry of the oncoming lines fleeing from his mind as vague thoughts passed through his head.  He touched Éowyn's shoulder, set down his bow, and darted away down the lines; he knew very well what was happening.  His heart pounded as he ran.  What would he see there, at the gate finally?  All his hopes either would come crashing down here or would live on.  The anticipation beat down on him, forcing his muscles to work harder to propel him along the battlements towards the gate.  

            Suddenly, he felt something, and he bumped into a boy, darting along the wall just as he was.  The boy looked up, wide-eyed, and stammered an apology.  

            "Legolas," he said, "I was sent to tell you:  Lord Aragorn has returned..."  

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            Hope you like it so far!

            Review!  


	2. Calls of Silence

            I am really sorry this took a while to post.  I've had a lot going on right now!  But, I should post more regularly after this because the school play's (what has been taking up my time) opening night was last night!  ^_^ It was fun though, and I didn't screw up!  So happy!   

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**Chapter 2: Calls of silence**

            Legolas ran behind the boy, shoving at every man that dared to get in his path, frenzied because Aragorn was so close.  Aragorn, Aragorn, the one man he longed to see in this crowd of mortals.  Aragorn awaited him there, a little farther, a little farther.  

            Suddenly, Legolas stopped, for dread coursed through him now.  The waiting, after so much waiting, he would finally see Aragorn, but would he in fact see the Aragorn that left this forsaken keep?  Would it be a changed man?  Would he even be conscious enough to recognize Legolas at all, or be able to look around and speak?  Horrid images flashed through the elf's mind of a mutilated body, lying on the stones, men gathered around it while blood poured from his wounds.  Then, there was another of Aragorn staggering in, but he fell to the ground before Legolas could reach him, and he never got back up.  To go on could possibly mean meeting with one of these fates.  

            His legs once again began pumping, and the elf ran with as much ferocity as before.

            The twang of bowstrings reverberated through his head, and he glanced over to see lines of archers firing down into the ranks of Uruk-hai.  During his run, he had not even noticed the start of the battle.  Still, that was insignificant to him now.  He would join them only when he confirmed that Aragorn lived.  

            The gate appeared, and Legolas almost jumped down the stairs from the battlement to the base of the gate.  He was panting, but he did not stop until he reached the group of five people.  Théoden was one of them, along with Éomer and Gimli.  Legolas skidded to a halt, and Théoden and Éomer bowed their heads to him as he stood between them.  His heart slowed its beating at the sight in front of him, and he fell to his knees, crawling to his lover's face and holding his head with both hands.      

            "Aragorn, Aragorn," he whispered.  The man groaned and shifted his weight a little, away from the gushing wound on his side.  Flesh and blood mixed as pieces of his skin still clung desperately to the edges of the wound.  There was another gash on his shoulder, not as horrid but still dangerous, and bruises covered every surface of his body.  Blood leaked from the corner of his mouth, and Legolas wiped this away with a shaking hand.  He bowed his head and rested it on the man's forehead, but no tears came to his eyes.  He looked up and glared around him.  

            "Don't stand there!" he whispered harshly.  "A battle rages outside, one that Aragorn would have risked his life in instead of his petty mission," he spat the last word, "and he needs assistance.  He will die!"  Éomer and two men lifted up Aragorn gently.  The man mumbled something but did not awaken from his state, and they carried him away.  Legolas made to follow, but a hand came to rest on his shoulder.  It was Théoden.  

            "Legolas," Théoden said.  He tried to speak more, but no words came.  None was needed, as it were.  That one little word spoke volumes.  Gimli took Legolas hand, and Legolas steadied himself on the dwarf's shoulder.  His world spiraled around him, darkness sometimes creeping through it, little patches of white and red flashing before his eyes.  He took a deep breath, but the air burned his lungs.  It was thick with the smell of blood, Aragorn's blood, and the torturous scent of the Uruk-hai.  

            There was a crash, and Théoden started.  He glanced up to the battlements, and to his dismay, Uruk-hai raised up ladders upon the wall.  Gimli turned his head, and anger festered in his blood.  He growled and felt for the handle of one of his axes.  

            "Legolas, my dear friend, those are the bastards that gave Aragorn his grievous wounds.  Let them feel their own pain now."  Legolas turned his glazed eyes at the Uruk-hai.  Their roars filled his ears, but all he saw was Aragorn.  There was no battle before him at all, just a face, just mangled flesh, just blood.  "Let us fight for him now!"  Legolas shook his head though.  

            "The battle calls to you, my stout friend, but Aragorn calls to my heart.  Let him live!  I must see him through this!"  

            "You will fight, though.  I could not see you turning down this opportunity."  Gimli tried to chuckle, but the sound caught in his throat, which might have been for the better.  Legolas sighed and patted Gimli on the shoulder. 

            "My love calls."  Without another word, he stepped away from the battle and towards the keep where Aragorn rested and healers rushed to revive this waning man of the North.  Gimli looked at the receding back, of the slump of the shoulders, of the tired way that Legolas moved, and he did not call after him or run towards Legolas.  Instead, he looked back to the battle.  

            "King Théoden," he said, "this will get bloody before the end."  He raised his axe, and let out a great cry.  "For Aragorn!" he shouted as he charged up the steps taking them as best he could with his short legs, and jumping into the fray above.  He swung left and right in a fury, roaring and shouting; cursing every foul being that dared to cross path's with his axe head.  

            Legolas entered a room in almost as much frenzy as the battle outside.  At least ten healers ran about, all at the shouted orders from Éomer.  Some carried herbs over to Aragorn, others holding cloths to his head and pouring liquids down his throat.  Some inspected his wounds.  All almost tripped over the other in the little room that there was.  

            "Legolas!" Éomer called.  "Come here!"  Legolas walked over towards Éomer, who stood a little ways off from the bed to permit the healer's room to work.  His face was grave, his eyes stony.  He shook his head and clapped a hand on the elf's shoulder.  "Excuse me for before," he whispered.  "I was wrong to doubt the word of an elf."  Legolas looked back at Aragorn and felt no compassion towards Éomer. 

            "I am not so ready to forgive one who permitted my love to go on this suicidal mission," he spat, jerking out of Éomer's grasp and hurrying to the bedside.  He kneeled by Aragorn.  The man was sleeping now, sleeping from the herbs.  His breath came in short gasps, but Legolas put his face close to Aragorn's to feel the short little breaths.  Warm breaths, tinted with blood, but alive still, the man breathed all the same.  Legolas grasped his hand and squeezed it.  

            "I am here now, nin meleth.  I am here for you now.  There are no worries anymore.  Capable healers," he said those words a little louder, "will take care of you, and I shall watch over you, always here.  The battle is ours; I know it.  We shall triumph in the end."  His heart broke to lie like this to Aragorn, but it helped him.  No matter if, the man was asleep and could not hear.  Let him think pleasant words so that his death was not that of worry and strife.  

            "No, but you will not die," Legolas muttered.  "You are Aragorn, and you will not die."  The words ran through his head and became a litany that he whispered silently, mouthing the words as he sat beside Aragorn.  _You are Aragorn, and you will not die.  _He looked up now.  Around him, the healers had gone to look at his wound.  One shook his head, only to receive a sharp kick and a whispered warning that "Lord Aragorn must live somehow."  Legolas dared not actually stare at the wound itself, so he turned back to the man's face.  He knew this would happen.  In his gut, he felt that Aragorn would return in this ruined state or not return at all.  Here he was, dangling his feet over the precipice of death.

            "Excuse me," one healer said.  She had a drink in her hands.  "Lord Aragorn must have this, for now."  She handed it to Legolas.  "If you could give it to him?"  Legolas took the steaming mug in his hands.  It smelled strongly of herbs, herbs that would cause deep sleep.  Aragorn would not wake after this for at least a few hours.  Legolas lifted up the man's head and tipped it down his throat.  He moaned a little, but Legolas shushed him gently until all of it was down.  He rested Aragorn's head on the pillows and smoothed back his hair.  He put his face down beside Aragorn and smelled the strong scent of his sweat, felt the soft touch of his hair along the elf's face, smelled his blood.  Legolas closed his eyes to keep back the tears, but they came all the same.  He held them back so long, and now he wept, wept upon the pillows where Aragorn slept.  He cried out for Aragorn, pleaded with him to live, that the world of men needed him, that _he _needed him.  He could not die now!  

            Finally, Legolas' tears abated, and he fell into a restless sleep kneeling by his lover's bedside.  

***

            "You fight with the ferocity of two!" Éomer shouted to Gimli, who had just brought down another Uruk-hai.  Gimli briefly turned to him, all the while his axe still striking out, and grunted.  

            "I should be fighting for three," he responded, "but I don't know how to shoot a bow!"  He thrust his axe out to the right and caught an Uruk-hai before it could make its way up the ladder.  All around him, men fought the same way, desperately slashing, hacking, and trying anything to slow the flow of orcs.  The deluge of rain around them continued, mixing with the blood and making the stones slippery.  Many men fell at their own clumsiness and found themselves trampled then having died at the hands of an enemy.  It had been this way for at least two hours, fruitless fighting.  There was no end to the Uruk-hai, no relief for the men at all.  

            Or the sole warrior who fought like none other, a Rohan man, one of their own army he looked, but he fought better than any there.  In fact, this was no 'he'.  Éowyn swung her sword out and cleaved an Uruk-hai in two with a yell.  Though she was much slighter than most men, she fought alongside them and better than they.  A pile of Uruk-hai bodies surrounded her as she killed them before they even climbed over the wall.  With each one she struck, she chanted the word 'Aragorn' in her head.  

            Legolas had run off from her, but she did not follow.  No, the battle was there, and no matter what came, she would not desert her post, not even if that was Aragorn who they called about.  She doubted it, and in her heart, she felt that he was dead, that strong, valiant man dead.  She would keep her promise though.  If he were dead, she would find him in battle, even if Legolas were not there to die with her, he the forsaken lover, and she the admirer without any hope.  But Legolas ran off.  

            Maybe Aragorn had returned.  Maybe Legolas was with him, and he was injured beyond help.  Maybe he had died, and the elf killed himself alongside of Aragorn.  Possibilities swam around her head, but she shook it free and cleaved another Uruk-hai in two.  There was no time to speculate now.  Little chance remained that Aragorn would live.  

            What awaited her was here.  What did it matter of Aragorn or how he died?  Oh, she moaned, Aragorn, why now, when men need you, Ranger from the North, Aragorn, tall as the Sea Kings, grey-eyed, strong Aragorn.

            "Look out!" someone called behind her.  She swung her sword up, now hearing the familiar swish of metal, and caught the blade of a coming Uruk-hai.  He roared at her, but she swung low, catching his foot.  He screamed in pain, and Éowyn pierced his stomach.  He fell to the ground.  She glanced around, curious about who would care if a warrior fell in this battle.  

            _No, _she thought.  Éomer fought his way close to her.  Had he seen who she was?  Had he noticed?  He looked as though he had.  Éowyn tilted her chin up and stared at him with cold eyes.  He faltered in his step.  She bowed her head, but slowly turned away, returning to the battle around her.  _This is not the time, dear brother, to worry over the safety of your sister.  No, sweet Éomer, not now.  _

            With a cry, she charged away, to where the battle was thickest, waiting for the wave of death to take her in its arms.  

***

            Legolas gulped back the lump in his throat as he focused on Aragorn's still face.  The man had not stirred because of the herbs, and his face was peaceful.  There was a slight smile on his lips almost.  Legolas' mouth twitched, and he smoothed back a strand of wet hair.  

            Beside him, three healers worked tirelessly.  Legolas had briefly seen what they were doing: sticking thread into Aragorn to close his wound.  A human practice, one he had never heard of before.  The elves would never dare to use thread to heal a wound, never.  Still, the healers assured him that it would "ensure a recovery by Lord Aragorn," so Legolas did not complain.  But he could not help that queasy feeling in his stomach as he heard with his elvin ears the needle piercing skin then coming back out.

            "Excuse me, my lord," a young woman said beside him.  She had wide eyes and a small face filled with fear.  Legolas smiled sadly at her.  "Lord Aragorn will be resting for a few hours more at least.  He is doing quite well now, but..." She stopped, unsure how to word her next question.  "Maybe you would like to...you must...help...maybe you want...get a chair...or a bed..."

            "You want me to fight?" he asked for her.  She started and nervously nodded her head.  

            "Yes, my lord," she responded meekly.  Legolas glanced at the body beside him, his heart breaking again at the sight of Aragorn.  But color had returned to his face, and there were signs of life in his breathing now.  He was improving, that was for sure.  But leave him now; leave Aragorn?  What if he died during battle?  Would Legolas know?

            "Yes, I would know, would I not?" he whispered.  "When you fade I shall know, meldanya."  

            "Excuse me?"  Legolas turned a glassy look to the woman.  

            "But, no, watch over him I must," Legolas said finally.  The woman bowed her head and turned to the other healers.  

            "There are many men coming with wounds, those that could drag themselves here, less fighting.  My lord, please go to the battle.  Lord Aragorn shall live.  I know he shall, but the men...I don't care if you are an elf or not, but please, do fight.  Even if you must you elvin witchcraft, any aid is welcome aid!" she cried, desperate.  Legolas glanced back at the pale face to keep his calm as the woman rambled about elvin evils.  

            "Do you have a lover?" Legolas asked.  The woman stopped, nodded slowly, gulping back her tears.  "Perchance your lover fell and came to your healers.  Would you tend to only him or heal those around you, help those also in need.  Would your love consume you?"  She guiltily thought for a moment.  

            "I would remain with my lover," she whispered.  Legolas inclined his head to Aragorn.  

            "Then do not pressure me to leave his side.  An elvin bond of love is the strongest bond felt, and if he were to die, I too would fade.  I cannot part from his side when I know that every moment could bring him closer to death."  She gasped and bowed low.  

            "I am sorry, my lord.  I did not know," she replied quickly.  Legolas put a hand on her shoulder.  

            "I will watch him now.  That should serve you, correct?  You said there were others."  Her mouth twitched into a smile.  

            "Yes, my lord.  Healers will come occasionally, but you may watch the Lord Aragorn, if you wish.  Please, do tell us when he awakens."  Legolas nodded his head in agreement and sat beside the bed.  Aragorn shifted in his sleep and mumbled something incoherent.  The healer watched as the elf stared intently at the man's face, thinking deeply for a moment.  

            "My lord," she said, "please say if Lord Aragorn does not awaken."  With that, she departed, leaving the room empty except Legolas and Aragorn.  

            Now, alone, Legolas began to pace.  Aragorn was recovering, yes, but how would that continue when he awoke.  Surely he would know of the futile battle fought without his aid and deem himself ready to fight, though there was no chance he could.  And he would wish to move, not stay bedridden.  Legolas knew his lover to well.  Last time he fell to injury in the elf's presence, it was all that Legolas could do to keep him restrained during healing.  His own hand itched for the feel of a bow beneath it and his heart burned with rage at the Uruk-hai.  If those feelings ran through him, they would be tenfold for the man.  Legolas' head swam at the possibilities.  

            And he had no idea the progress of the battle...

            "Brace the gates!" he heard Théoden yell with his increased hearing.  Legolas' heart sank at those words.  So they were breaking through now.  He plopped down on the ground beside Aragorn and rested his head on the man's pillow.  His breath tickled Legolas' face and stung his eyes, but it was even and smooth, calming to the stressed elf.  What if they broke through?  Made it inside the keep?  How could he defend himself, along with the men, and Aragorn, all at the same time?  Aragorn could not die now.  Men needed him far past this one night.  

            Legolas closed his heavy eyes and felt exhaustion catching up with him.  Oh, his mind was so weary.  He needed just a little rest, just a bit.  Aragorn would awaken soon, the men were...strong enough to hold the gate, and they had Gimli, and Éowyn.  That should help them greatly.  He could rest now; gather his strength until the battle came.  He would fight in due time.  He would fight once Aragorn was safe, out away from death's icy grip.  

            Legolas slipped into a troubled rest.  

***

_            He heard the marching line before he saw them, felt the trembling of ground beneath his horse as they marched.  His horse snorted and stepped back, pawing at the ground.  He turned him away from the line and cantered towards the safety of the cliffs.  He had to make it, could not be overrun by the army.  No, he would make it.  _

_            He slowed his horse to a trot, safe now, and finally stopped it beneath the cliff.  Around him were the others, unharmed.  They nodded to him in acknowledgement of what he had done just then.  They are coming, he said, and the men bowed their heads.  He pointed towards the great keep.  Make for home, he told them sternly.  We must go...Around him, the men screamed as they heard the cries of other riders.  Suddenly, three scouts and their Warg beasts sprang towards them.  The men easily fell, except for one.  He fought on and felled two of the riders on his own, while the other men died around him.  But it was not enough.  His horse reared as the last charged and threw him to the ground.  He held up his sword in defense, but the beast slashed down with his great claws, gashing his stomach.  He gasped and quickly severed that leg.  The beast, screaming in pain, fled from him.  He brought down the rider without any trouble.  Still, he could barely move, and the army bore down on him.  He looked once despairingly at the keep—  _

            _Pain, anger, loss.__  Blurry vision, clouded thoughts.  Troubled dreams that stirred unnerving images, dark dreams of death and ending.  Men fell into despair.  Yet a light at the end, shining like a star.  Soft skin, trembling lips, gentle hair caressing him.  The images wavered, the visions faded at that sweet touch.  Long lashes hiding cold yet loving eyes, filled with worry.  The pain vanished, the memory fled from the beauty beside him._

A shaking hand reached out and touched Legolas' face.  He stirred from his fitful sleep and opened his eyes.  He was still in Aragorn's room.  And he was alone, but for that mysterious hand.  Legolas reached for it and wrapped his hand around the wrist, ready to yank it away from his face.  

            But he knew that hand.  

            Legolas turned his head just slightly.  Two grey eyes looked at him through a mist of tears.  He gulped back the lump in his throat and felt tears coming to his own eyes.  He grabbed the face in both hands.  The man smiled a teary smile and stroked the elf's hair.  

            "Oh, it cannot be true!" Legolas whispered.  Aragorn leaned forward and quickly kissed Legolas on the lips.  "Meldanya, oh Aragorn meldanya!" he cried.  Aragorn grabbed the elf and kissed him again.  Pain shot through his side, but the touch of those angelic lips drove it away.  He felt death in him, felt death closer than he ever had.  But this, this in front of him shone with life, and he readily took every bit of it he could.  He wiped away the elf's tears, felt the gentle water on his hand.  His heart pounded in his chest and threatened to burst away from its bounds.  Legolas smiled again and rested his head on Aragorn's shoulder, crying onto his soft skin.  Aragorn was awake, and he was alive too, able to move and not bedridden totally.  Oh, it was too much to ask for?  

            "What is happening?" Aragorn questioned suddenly, his overall joy dimming at the clash of weapons above.  Legolas' face darkened.  "How long have they fought?"  

            "For at least five hours now," Legolas responded.  "You have slept that long also, but that is what the healer's made you do, with their drinks.  They said that you would heal fine if you slept and remain still."  Aragorn glanced back to the stairs in the hallway, but Legolas' took his hand.  "Meaning that you cannot fight, my love," he said sternly.  

            "And what of you?" Aragorn countered.  "You can fight.  How does the battle fare, for I would assume you did not lie idle in wait for me."  Legolas hung his head, but a hand lifted up his chin.  Aragorn was smiling.  "If you did, then I shall not punish you for it."

            "Not that you would be capable of punishing me," Legolas laughed.  Aragorn grinned at him, and for reassurance kissed him again.  "But nay, I have not fought, though my hand itches to fell those creatures that brought you to this state.  I could not fight unless sure that you would live through the night."  

            "I understand that."

            "And as for the battle, I question as I have always questioned the reliability of these men.  Hope is little, but in my heart, there is light, a glimmer that in fact they might live out this night to the day beyond.  Oh Aragorn," he suddenly sobbed.  "I had no hope for you though.  No matter how many times I repeated you were strong, I felt as if there was no more hope for you."

            "But we meet again," Aragorn whispered.  "Do not fear now, Legolas, dear elf, for I cannot fall now that I am awake.  I shall not succumb to death."  Legolas rose now and stretched out his stiff legs.  Aragorn tried to lift himself into a sitting position, but his side burned with white-hot fire and he bit his lip to keep from yelping.  Legolas kneeled and gently shushed Aragorn.  

            "Do not move," he said.  "It will only slow your healing.  The humans did well and I do not question you shall heal, but it is in your hands how long that takes."  Aragorn sighed.  

            "But I must move," he cried.  "Give me my sword and let me fight now, no matter my injuries.  These men need me!"  Legolas firmly put his hands on the squirming man's shoulders to restrain him, glaring down at him.  

            "In due time you shall fight.  There is enough strength now; do not fear.  Did you not say yourself that even if these are not warriors we should not distrust them totally?"  Aragorn glanced around before giving in, nodding his head slowly.  

            "But let me fight before this battle ends.  I will not wait it out."  Legolas growled, and any further words out of Aragorn stopped.  The elf raised himself up onto the bed and sat on the edge of it.  He looked down at Aragorn and saw anguish in the man's eyes.  That wound did more to him than met the eye.  He was a warrior, not a bedridden invalid.  The man smiled suddenly, once he realized Legolas was looking at him.  Legolas put a hand to his forehead and smoothed back his wet hair lovingly.  

            "Mela," he whispered.  Aragorn closed his eyes and brought his arm up to hold on to Legolas' wrist.  He closed his eyes and let the torrent of emotion wash over him.  Fight, he must fight, but how his side burned.  The healing though, fight, Legolas told him to remain.  He could not obey those words, and Legolas knew that.  He spoke empty commands, impossible commands to fill.  How could he sit still while a battle raged above him?  But, how could he escape from the elf while the tireless immortal watched him?  From now, Legolas would not sleep.  He was too keen to slip away now.

            Suddenly, Aragorn felt a rumbling spreading through him.  Legolas glanced up and gripped onto the bed tighter.  He slipped over to one side as the room shook, accompanied by a large explosion.  Aragorn clung to the elf, his eyes wide.  The explosion ended, and Aragorn let out a sigh.  Legolas, instead uneasily got up and cautiously crept to the doorway.  He looked out the hall when suddenly a cry came to his ears.  

            "Get out!  Get out!  Retreat to the second level!  Retreat!"  Legolas glanced back at Aragorn.  

            "They've broken through the first level," Legolas said plainly.  Aragorn jumped up, yelped at the fire in his side, and fell back down onto the bed.  Legolas closed his eyes and opened them with a glare.  

            "Do not move until I return," he commanded sternly.  Aragorn turned pleading eyes to him, but Legolas was already bolting down the hallway.  He took the steps two at a time and rushed into the large hall in the center of Helm's Deep.  His footfalls echoed in the empty hallway, and he threw open the doors in front of him.  

            A blast of cold rain hit him as he rushed out.  The air reeked of Uruk-hai blood and humans, their sweat mixing with the blood.  In front of him was Théoden and his two most trusted men, though they did not even turn at the sound of the doors.  Legolas ran to the wall and peered down at the battle in front of him.  There was still one gate left, but the forces were no match for the flood of Uruk-hai blasting them.  The Deeping Wall was breached.  

            "What happened?" he whispered, but the sound carried to Théoden, who turned and caught sight of the elf for the first time.  He gave Legolas a warning glare.  

            "Devilry of Saruman: it undid stone with fire, blowing a hole into the wall.  There is only one gate left to hold back before the Keep is taken."  Legolas could hear the fatigue on that voice, and guilt spread through him.  He glanced back to the chambers within before making up his mind.  

            "Then let me retrieve my bow, for you need as many hands as you can gain."  With that, Legolas nodded his head in respect and dashed away, back to the chamber where Aragorn awaited his return.  

            "What is it?" Aragorn asked as the flustered elf ran into the room and grabbed up his quiver and bow.  He strapped the quiver to his back and readied his bow.  

            "They have broken through the Deeping Wall.  This is the last defense," Legolas said breathlessly.  "I have left you in the charge of a healer for now.  She will be good to you, trust me, but you must listen to her and obey her," he warned.  He took a deep breath and kneeled by Aragorn, taking the man's hand.  "You are in no condition to fight.  Do not try to convince her you must.  The defenses will hold; do not fear for that.  And as for me," he added as Aragorn opened his mouth to speak, "I can take care of myself, nin meleth."

            "Legolas, I cannot let you..."

            "I will not die!" Legolas shouted.  "I can watch over myself.  But you, Aragorn, cannot fight.  Stay here!  You are not fit to move yet."  He kissed Aragorn tenderly on the lips before rising and running from the room, leaving Aragorn alone in his sickbed.  

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            I hope you liked that!

            Heheheheh...the next chapter will be fun; I'll just say that!  *is scheming* I can't wait to start writing!  *maniacal laughter* My evil muse is getting to me.  

            Please review!  


	3. Rise and Fall

            Finally posted another chapter on this.  Sorry it took so long.  I've had other stories dying to be written down currently...too many stories.  My writer's block is over, and it's over with a bang.  

            But it's better then having writer's block, I suppose.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chapter 3: Rise and fall

            Legolas shook a strand of wet hair from his face and let loose another arrow.  There was a shrill cry, and one more Uruk-hai fell.  Five more filled its place.  The elf growled and fired another shot into them.  Around him, the few other archers lined the outside rim of the Hornburg.  Below, waves of thousands of Uruk-hai pressed closers, destroying the weak army in front of them.  The rain had abated some, though it remained, constantly there to spite the warriors that slipped in the mud.  Blood mixed with rain in the stonework below.  

            "Legolas, we cannot hold the archers positions any longer," Théoden shouted over the din.  He stood a few feet away from Legolas, watching the scene below him with horror.  Legolas glared at him.  

            "If you move your archers into that fray, they will die much faster!  They must stay here, where they can bring slow and steady death without relinquishing their own lives."  Théoden stared at Legolas.  

            "The archers will fight.  I command you to…"

            "You have no power over me, King Théoden, though I respect your power, and it seems that your decisions have only made things worse thus far.  The archers will remain until needed, a reserve, so to speak."  

            "A reserve of fifteen men," Théoden muttered, turning back to the battle.  He was too weary to balance the two battles.  Let the obstinate elf do what he wanted.  Legolas nodded in acknowledgement to Théoden before firing three more arrows into the sea of bodies below.  He reached back into his quiver for arrows…

            …and found it empty.  Legolas patted around the rim, felt inside, but there were no more arrows for him.  Around him, some archers had met the same predicament.  They searched on the ground in vain for any shaft worth firing.  Slowly, their fellows joined them, the quivers spent, the arrows gone.  Legolas bent low to the ground and sifted through the mud around him.  He would find something here to use; he knew he would.

            "We have no more arrows," a feeble voice said behind him.  Legolas glowered at him.  

            "Do you not think I know this?" he spat.  The boy recoiled.  Legolas stood up slowly and gazed at the battle beyond.  He looked around at the archers, then at Théoden.  Théoden paid them no heed though.  

            Suddenly, there came a rumbling through the stones.  Legolas looked down, and to his horror, he saw a large battering ram against the gate beyond.  It struck again, sending timbers flying away.  

            "The gate will hold," Théoden said calmly.  "My men reinforced it will all extra wood we had while we had the chance."  He looked to Legolas.  "There is another passageway, off to the right, with stairs.  You should find yourself in the battle then."  Legolas made a sound in the back of his throat.  

            "Then we shall follow it," he said shortly, turning on his heel.  But a hand came to rest on his shoulder.  He looked over into Théoden's creased face.  Worry covered the man's eyes in a thick glaze, and his mouth quivered like that of an old man on his last leg.  

            "Forgive me," Théoden whispered before shoving Legolas away.  "Go!  You might yet help us in some way make this an ending of valor!"  Without looking back, Legolas ran towards the direction of the stairs indicated.  He took them two at a time, keeping his footing only because of his elven grace.  Men below him scrambled down the wet stars, swords ready, their faces set for death.  Fear hung in the air around Legolas, so tight in the hidden tunnel.  The humans thought that they walked to the very gates of death itself.  

            "'Tis not death, 'tis not life, 'tis just freedom, away from strife," Legolas muttered under his breath.  In front of him, he could see a large door.  Four men already pushed against it.  Five, six, seven…_Aragorn, this is for you_…eleven, twelve, thirteen…_May I bring swift death to these creatures for your pain…_fourteen, fifteen…_I will always love you…_

Legolas threw himself against the door with all his might, letting out a great cry.  It groaned and shifted, something clicking inside of it.  Legolas shoved, calling out to the men.  He did not know what words he spoke, other then the fact that he spoke them that they came from his mouth.  The door creaked open, inch-by-inch.  A cold blast of air hit Legolas and he shivered at it.  But his blood ran hot, hot with anger, hot with fear, hot with mortality, for his own death could wait around the corner for him.  

            "But I will not let Aragorn fall," he said aloud.  "Aragorn shall live on, the King of Men."  Suddenly, the door gave way, flying open with tremendous force.  Legolas heard at least twenty Uruk-hai fall dead at the impact.  The full blast of them, though, was yet to come.  

            He charged into the battle, flipping out the two white knives on his back.  He drove one into each of the Uruk-hai's necks beside him and pulled them out.  The white blade came out black with their blood, and Legolas shook the blood out of his face.  Around him, he heard the men screaming.  He leapt over a fallen body and drove both knives into the exposed back of an Uruk-hai.  He saw in front of him the main press, surging forward with each hit of the battering ram, fighting to get to the gates first.  Legolas charged through them.  He kicked out at a wounded Uruk-hai on the ground.  It growled at him and grabbed his ankle, twisting hard.  Legolas kicked its mutilated face and jumped back.  Behind him, another Uruk-hai brought up its sword.  Legolas blocked it with both knives behind him.  He spun around, using the sword to propel him, and had both knives in the creature's neck.  

            Suddenly, pain spread through his leg.  Legolas looked down, then back to that Uruk-hai.  Inside of his boot, he felt the familiar tingling of blood flowing along his skin.  He tested his foot on the ground again.  It was not broken but bruised for sure.  Legolas wished now for the freedom of a sword to hold onto.  But still, the word 'Aragorn' resounded through his head, throbbing in the same rhythm as the blood flowing through him.  He gritted his teeth.  Pain is nothing, he repeated over and over.  Aragorn suffers, not I.  I live to protect him, my love.  Legolas, with a new fury, began his ascent towards the top of the Keep.  He fought his way through swarms of Uruk-hai.  Blood and mud covered him, splattered over his face.  He shook a few strands of his hair from his face, sending water flying around him.  The rain had not abated; in fact, it came down even harder then before.  The twilight was not as thick as before, to Legolas' eyes.  Still, morning was at least an hour away.  Even Legolas pined for the sight of that bright sun, peeking around the cliffs of Helm's Deep, shining bright into the Coomb.  

            But still the rain did not relent.  

***

            Gimli realized suddenly that from above him the constant whiz of arrows from above him had stopped.  He spared a glance above and saw only Théoden watching with horror the scene below him.  Gimli cursed when there was no sight of the archers above him.  They had done so well, such an asset even with their meager numbers.  Every warrior was a gain.  

            But there came another sound to his ears.  Easily slicing an Uruk-hai, Gimli paused momentarily to catch his breath.  He involuntarily swung the handle of his axe into the oncoming face of another Uruk-hai.  Suddenly, though, he heard a great cry, let out by a fierce and untamed voice.  The Uruks around him trembled at the sound.  A smile cracked the layers of blood and grime on Gimli's face.  With new fury, he whirled around, charging through the armies, his axe felling any it came in contact with.  He stumbled, tripping over a dead body.  He let out a cry as he saw an Uruk-hai's face snarling down at him.  

            The creature suddenly paused, its eyes wide, and let out a shrill cry.  It fell to the ground dead beside Gimli.  Replacing it was a far fairer figure, even when covered in the dirt and blood and water.  

            "Legolas!" Gimli cried, stumbling to his feet with the help of the elf.  Legolas put a hand on his friend's shoulder, a smile breaking across his face.  "Oh, you're here."  Gimli laughed and embraced the elf.  "How's…"

            "Alive," Legolas responded as he turned away to deliver another Uruk-hai from its mortal confines.  "He's alive and healing.  Aragorn should live…" Legolas left his sentence unsaid, but Gimli could not bear to hear it, just as the elf could not bear to say it.  Both of them made nervous smiles.  

            "Then fight alongside me, friend, for Aragorn," Gimli whispered.  Legolas clasped Gimli's shoulder.  

            "I would not desert you now, mellon."  With that, both plunged back into the battle with renewed fury.  Each had a companion by their side as they whirled and struck, recoiled from blows and ducked around bodies, jumped over the dead and carefully avoided the wounded, when they could.  Legolas felt a smile creeping across his face, surrounded even by so much death.  

            _Stand by me always, my friend.  Stand by me now.  And don't let me fall.  _

***

            "You must let me go!" Aragorn shouted at the healer pushing gently on his shoulders.  He struggled to free himself from the woman's grasp, but her hand was firm and she glared down at him.  

            "My lord, orders from the elf Legolas commanded us to keep you here at all costs.  And you must heal, my lord.  Fighting would only reopen your wounds," the healer insisted.  Aragorn sighed and fell back down on the bed.  Pain ran through his body, but the thoughts of his dear Legolas fighting alone were more troublesome to him.  It was a deathtrap outside.  Aragorn knew that without surveying the battle.  Legolas had walked into a trap and would only find himself dead alongside the humans that despised him.  

            "But I must fight alongside Legolas.  If he is to die, then I shall die by his side, not le here waiting for my own death to come without a fight!  Please," Aragorn implored.  The healer shook her head firmly.   

            "I shall not disobey orders," she replied sternly.  "Now, my lord, you must drink this to get better..."  She held out a cup to Aragorn, but with his good arm, the man reached up and swatted it away, spilling the contents.  It fell to the ground with a clatter, and Aragorn glared at the woman.  

            "I shall fight.  I command you to let me fight," he whispered harshly.  "Can you not see that I must?  I shall not lie idle while my lover suffers and toils on the field of battle.  It pains me so."  The healer's grip on him loosened just a bit.  "I looked only briefly upon his fair elven face.  I know that you might despise elves, but they are no evil sorcerers out to do ill to humans; they are a beautiful race, fair in appearance and in manner.  Well, most are," he added with a chuckle.  Silently, Aragorn applauded himself, for the healer was almost fully off him now, her eyes full of sadness.  "Legolas...I love him more then I have loved any elf, even if he is a bit cold.  If your lover fought alone in a losing battle, would you too not wish to stand beside him to the end, even die beside him, so that you can share the uncountable years of death?  Do you understand what I say?"  

            "I did not think of it that way, my lord.  I do understand.  My lover is fighting.  And oh that I would be able to grip a sword and cleave the Uruks merely to be with him one last time.  He was so frightened when he left me.  And..."  Aragorn deftly swung out his hand, striking her on the side of the head.  She crumpled to the floor in an unconscious heap, her sweet voice silent now.  The man grimaced in pain as he tried to shift his weight.  

            "Ignore it," he commanded himself, edging to the side of the bed.  "Ignore the pain.  This is for Legolas."  He set one foot down on the ground, then the other.  Aragorn reached for his sword propped beside the bed.  "Andúril," he muttered, "do not fail me now."  Using the sword as support, Aragorn lifted himself up.  He stood shakily with most of his weight on his good leg.  The world around him spun.  

            Finally, he could see, and Aragorn took his first faltering steps.  The door was ten feet away, now nine, seven, five; just a little bit farther.  He leaned on the doorframe, panting, and peered down the hall.  _Legolas,_ he murmured in his mind, _I am sorry that I must do this.  I am sorry I must break my vows to you._  He unsheathed his sword, the bright blade glowing in the dim light, and made his way slowly to the stairs beyond.   

***

The rush of blood from the wound came long before the stab of pain running up her leg.  The scream of the Uruk-hai that received the blow of her sword came long before the crumpling pain.  The world slowly rotated as she slipped to the ground.  

           Suddenly, in a wave, the pain washed over her and she hit the stones beneath her.  Blood spilled from the leg, mixing with that already flowing through the deep crevices in the stone and filling the ruts and dents worn down by time.  A groan escaped wet lips.  The world spun again, blurring into a red haze.  

            "Help," the voice whispered; the voice Éowyn thought came from her throat.  All around her warriors fought and fell; their faces upturned to the sky, some smiling as death took their weak souls to the next world and others tortured souls reaching for the heavens with their glassy eyes.  All around her, she smelt the smell of death, of blood and sweat and reeking corpses, of rain mixing into festering wounds.  She smelled her own body, her own blood.  All she lost in the rush of fighting was back, the cries, the shouts, the clash of swords, the sickening crunch of skulls and bones cracking, the pleas from the wounded.  

            Éowyn tried to lift herself up, tried to escape from the death around her, but her wounded leg would not respond.  She let out a cry of pain and fell back to the ground.  Slowly, her hand inched for the sword to her left.  Weak fingers encased the worn hilt, and she pulled it towards herself.  

            "I shall fight," she whispered.  "I shall not lose myself even now."  She tried again to sit up, just enough so that she could get her weight onto the sword.  Fire ran along her leg, needles of pain making her groan.  But she would not relent.  

            Éowyn slid the sword along the ground until she could get it straight.  She pushed upward...one leg, almost there.  She could only see black around her from the excruciating pain, but Éowyn fought on.  Now for the next leg.  She felt the blood pounding through her and into her head, the drumming of her heart an incessant beat that drove nails into her skull.  

            "I am a warrior," she panted.  "I will fight and die valiantly, not just another corpse upon the field of battle.  Let them see my true wrath."  She stood finally, erect, tall, a lone figure amongst the Uruks and humans.  She staggered to one side but gritted her teeth.  Lift up the sword.  Lift up the sword.  That's all she had left to do.  

            Éowyn let out a cry and fell to the side, helpless again.  She collapsed against the stones, her arm catching on the edge of a sword and opening another wound.  She grabbed at it and felt hot blood running through her fingers.  Her vision blurred; her head light and spinning from the loss of blood.  

            _So this is what it comes to,_ she thought.  _It comes to me, a helpless body upon the ground to be forgotten among the dead.  _She looked around at the growing number of non-humans, and her heart sank.  What chance was there that the men around her would triumph?  They were weak from a night of fighting under the clouds and the rain.  And what was left for her?  There would be no victory here, for her or any others, no renown in this battle.  It was a massacre, no more, too many names to list, important or not.  

            There was one though.  

            Lord Aragorn.  Éowyn felt tears creeping to her eyes at the thought.  She felt...guilt, for deserting him and not protecting him...and sadness for the broken love that he and Legolas would never share again, and for her own love for him, never returned, never there.  _At least_, she reminded herself, _I should die knowing that I protected him in some way, even if it was not enough to save his life.  _ 

            But Éowyn looked up through the haze and saw that above her, the rain had paused, for now, at least.  The grey clouds parted, revealing a lighting sky beneath.  Little rays of light played across her white face, her tired form.  And with each new bit of light came another memory, another thought.  She saw herself as a little girl, visions floating in and out of her mind.  Her first sword, learning, practicing with Éomer.  He was always such a good swordsman.  Her tears as she saw her mother dying...her father dying...death, death, so much death.  There was Éomer as he protected her, the caring brother.  And she sat alone, practiced alone, and lived alone in a world although people surrounded at her all times.  

           The final rays of sunlight peeked through the clouds in a dazzling show, showering golden light over the battle.  Blood turned to gold under the morning light and even the dullest swords glowed brightly.  Éowyn let out a small sigh.  She lifted herself up, but all her energy was spent.  Slowly, she fell back to the ground.  

            She was barely conscious of two hands coming behind her, strong arms.  She looked up through her dimming vision to see a fair face, stained with blood, yet pale, and ice blue eyes.  A few wisps of golden hair tickled her face.  

            "Legolas," she croaked.  "Legolas, I protected him.  Tell Aragorn...I love him...and to remember me.  I did not die in vain upon this field."  Legolas shook his head and looked Éowyn over, his eyes falling finally on the mortal wound on her leg.  

            "You did not die in vain," he said with a smile.  

            "I kept my word," she continued.  Legolas nodded.  "I kept my word to Aragorn.  Oh...Legolas, I hope that your love...grows...strong..." Her head fell back against the elf's chest and her eyes closed, the last breath escaping her lips a small sigh of relief.  In her final moments, she thought she heard the calling of horns, blowing into the wind like they were calling her home before her spirit departed for another world.  

            Legolas suddenly looked up towards the sky.  In the distance, he took could hear the sound of a horn, blown alone on the wind.  It was clear like the horns of the Rohirrim.  The men around him let out cries and held up their weapons.  The Uruks shied from something that Legolas could not see, crouched with the dead form of Éowyn in his arms.  

            But something he could see appeared before him.  He looked up and at the same time, his heart fell and he felt like weeping for joy.  Standing upon the highest level of the keep was Aragorn, heaving, panting, but still tall.  Legolas saw his pale face and his weak eyes, the bones of his face protruding.  Aragorn held his sword aloft; the sunlight shone like gold from it, his eyes alight, and his face glowing with the strength of the kings of old.  

            "Behold!" he cried out.  "The dawn has brought with it your hope, your freedom!  For as the sun rises look to the east."  On the distance came the triumphant whinny of a horse.  The Uruk-hai cried out in fear.  

            "Mithrandir!" Legolas shouted.  "Mithrandir has come!"  _Aragorn, what are you doing?  _Legolas screamed inside of his mind.  There stood his lover, wounded, only hours from death, yet standing against the armies of Uruk-hai.  He felt tears creeping to the edges of his eyes.

            And to the east, as the sun rose through the Deeping-coomb, Gandalf the White raised his staff, calling out a charge, and behind him stood an army of thousands of men.  He unsheathed his sword and rode towards the besieged walls of Helm's Deep, the men behind him.  

            In an hour, the Uruks were either dead or had fled to the hills, gone forever from Helm's Deep.  Cheers rose from the men as they saw that finally the Keep was theirs.  

            Legolas, too emotionally weak to do anything else, watched helplessly as Aragorn collapsed on the turrets.  He had never joined the fray as the man wanted, only a herald to the defeat of Saruman, not its cause.  He felt his own mind slipping past a barrier and into a great, endless abyss.  Legolas slumped forward.  The Lady Éowyn fell from his arms, and he slipped to the ground beside her, his mind too strained to take any other sights around him.  His Aragorn was safe and the battle won.  Legolas needed no other knowledge of the world around him. 

***

            "All the carcasses were piled and burned, the Uruks silently, the men with song and weeping," Legolas informed Aragorn as they walked along the upper battlements of Helm's Deep.  Aragorn used Legolas' arm as support as the man hobbled along.  His wound was getting better, but it would be a while yet until Aragorn could safely do anything more then this.  

            "Yet there is still one more burial to be held," Aragorn whispered quietly.  Legolas kissed Aragorn's cheek gently and helped him lean on the wall.  The elf sprang lightly onto the wall and turned around to look out over the Deeping Coomb, his legs dangling from the side.  

            "The Lady Éowyn fought bravely.  Her death shall be remembered for ages to come."  Legolas smiled sadly.  "I believe she had her final wish: to die for glory and remembrance.  She is not restless in the halls of her kin but pleased."  Aragorn took a deep breath.  Around him, the sun shone down upon Helm's Deep, as it had for the past two days.  He ached all over and around him, the men felt the touch of death, but he could help but have a lighter heart then he had before.  Darkness awaited him when he rode from the Coomb, but here, now, he could let a silent state of peace envelop him.  Tasks awaited him, uncountable trials before coming to his final destination.  

            Of course, there was no shortage of darkness here, even after the triumph of Rohan.  Aragorn heard many women weeping from where he sat most days in his room by the window.  They cried for loved ones, lost, gone, destroyed by the hand of Saruman.  And the songs; there was music everywhere, tearful farewells, songs in the elegant tongues of the Rohirrim.  Yes, there was much sadness in this forsaken place.  

            "Come," Legolas announced after a long pause.  "Tomorrow we depart from here, and you need your strength to ride.  It is time to rest."  Legolas swiveled around and took his lover's arm.  Aragorn leaned on the strong frame of the elf as Legolas led them back to their chamber within the Keep.  

            As they neared the center of the fortress, Legolas spied Gimli amongst a crowd of men who prepared horses for the departure early the following morn.  He sat upon a bale of hay, pipe in his mouth, hunched over with the look of a man defeated.  But Legolas cried out to him, and Gimli looked up with a smile before making his way over to the couple.  

            "So you finally step out of your prison," Gimli noted.  Aragorn gave a weak smile but responded to the summons of Legolas gently tugging on him.  The dwarf fell into step on Aragorn's other side.  

            "But to 'his prison' he must return if Aragorn is ever to recover," Legolas retorted.  Aragorn looked to Gimli in a beseeching manner that caused the dwarf to chuckle.  He stifled the sound at the sight of the elf near him.  

            "So, how do you fare?" Gimli sneered.  He looked to the elf's moving leg.  Legolas felt heat creeping into his cheeks, anger, anger.  Don't say anything, he pleaded to Gimli in his mind.  But Gimli could not hear that.  "Are your wounds doing well?"  Aragorn froze, yanking Legolas back with him.  A yelp caught in Legolas' throat.  

            "What is this?  Where are you wounded?  Why did you not tell me?" Aragorn almost shouted.  Legolas sighed and shut his eyes.  Deep breaths, he commanded.  Take deep breaths.  He slowly took hold of Aragorn and guided the man back towards the Keep.  

            "My _wound_ is neither grievous nor threatening.  It was merely a scrape," he hissed between his teeth.  But, as if cued, a stab of pain ran along Legolas' leg.  He skipped a step upon it.  Aragorn's brow furrowed.  

            "I would have doubted that even without your obvious show of pain.  What happened?"  

            "'Tis merely my ankle," Legolas insisted.  He crossed the threshold and led Aragorn and Gimli down a long, dark corridor.  His and Aragorn's room rested to the back.  Legolas bent forward and shot a glare to Gimli, who paid him no heed as he hummed a quiet tune under his breath.  

           "But why do we fret over this?  I am an elf and can recover from this easily enough.  Now, you, my mortal dear, have other problems.  Come, there is our room.  Gimli, I do believe that we must part here.  I am not sure if we shall make it to dinner tonight.  If not, then I shall see you again in the morning, my friend."  Legolas ushered Aragorn inside and hastily shut the door, leaving Gimli outside.  Gimli shrugged his shoulders and made his way back to his own room; pipe in hand.  

            "Now, Aragorn, lie down," Legolas said, motioning to the bed.  "You need to rest after being out for so long.  I have to find that medicine."  Aragorn crossed to the bed and sat down, thankful to be off his feet, while Legolas searched around for his medicines.  The elf returned with two bowls.  One consisted of a thick green paste, salve to put on Aragorn's wounds.  The other was a bowl of some type of cold broth.  It helped to deaden the burn of the salve.  Legolas set both down on the table beside the bed and guided Aragorn down.  Aragorn closed his heavy eyelids.  

            "Don't sleep just yet," Legolas said as he undressed the man.  "We have something to discuss.  I know you might not be in the shape...here, drink this before."  Aragorn accepted the bowl and downed the liquid.  He fell back down onto the pillows, and Legolas began his work of rubbing in the salve.  There was some tingling around Aragorn's worst wounds, but for the most part the pain was gone when the paste touched his skin.  

            "What is it?" Aragorn asked.  Legolas looked grimly down.  

            "We both know what awaits you," Legolas began.  "It is only a matter of time before our journey takes us on the long road to Minas Tirith and the realm of Gondor."  Aragorn groaned.  

            "Then let it take us there," he whispered.  "Legolas, we already went over these matters many times before.  You know my answers to those questions.  Come what may, I say.  The Men of Gondor shall find the King as he is, their king..."  Legolas smiled.  

            "Yes, you shall be their king," he comforted Aragorn.  "You know that you must rise above the men and guide them through these dark times.  Yet, I have considered that our love was just a fleeting..."

            "It was not fleeting!" Aragorn said firmly.  "Legolas let them see me as I am.  I am their king, and you shall be at my side, my lover, my king.  I have no fears for that.  Once I felt troubled, but know it is much clearer.  Legolas...why did you bring this up now?"  Legolas shrugged and set down the bowl.  

            "Rest, Aragorn," the elf whispered, leaning down.  He kissed Aragorn on his forehead before rising.  "I am taking a walk; I expect to return to find you asleep."  He turned away from the man and exited the room without a sound.  

***

            As the sun set, so came the burial of the Lady Éowyn.  Aragorn struggled to his feet to attend it, watching by Legolas' side as they lowered her body into a grave inside the Coomb.  It was upon a hill.  Banners flew around her, banners of Rohan, and in the center the white horse on a sable background.  Yet upon her grave they set a sword and a helmet.  It was her sword, the sword of the White Lady, fair Éowyn who fought bravely and met her end upon the wall of the Deep.  

            Women wept and threw flowers atop the grave.  Legolas felt a tear forming on his cheeks, and he could not help but let them fall, remembering Éowyn's determined face as she vowed to die for Aragorn, her eyes glistening with tears, her cheeks wet.  And then he saw her, drenched in rain and blood, gasping for breath as he struggled to live on.  Legolas felt her collapsing onto his chest and the final breath she let out upon him.   

            Slowly, the crowds departed.  Legolas stepped towards the grave himself.  He did not place a flower on her grave, but instead a solitary arrow.  Carved into the shaft was a phrase in elvish: _Fair was the Lady of White, yet her heart was that of a warrior, who fought and died, and proved herself worthy among the men.  Always shall she be in legend, as long as there are mouths to pass the story on.  _

He returned to Aragorn.  It was time for them to depart.  There were only two others left at the gravesite, and that was Théoden and Éomer, and they needed time alone to feel their own tears without the fear of being seen by the people around them.  Aragorn leaned on Legolas' shoulder, and they made their way down the hill.  The sun set behind him, and darkness closed around the couple as they slowly made their way back to their room to sleep for the night before setting out once more on their unending quest.  

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

            Yes, I did kill Éowyn.  It was hard, you know.  Hardest character death to write, meaning to get through writing, mainly because all the other's happened at the end of a story.  This is only at the beginning.  Oh well!  Always refreshing to kill someone new off.  I know that sounds awful.  I'll stop.  

            Many thanks to Eilonwy4 for betaing this chapter!  

            There is a button on the bottom of the screen.  It calls to you...calling...calling within your mind.  Closer the cursor moves towards the link.  Submit review.  You click it, you write some shit in the box about this story, and you make me all happy!  ^_^ Reviews are so wonderful, and will help me to focus on only this story for a while and not the million others that are BEGGING me to write them down.  Can't you hear them?

{~.^}


	4. Silver Trumpets

--NOTICE-- TO ALL THOSE WHO READ THIS CHAPTER BEFORE, I DID ADD MORE TO IT! It is basically the same other then that. So no, I haven't added a new chapter if you were hoping for that, but YES, I am working on that new chapter. Be patient!

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Chapter 4: Silver Trumpets

Legolas woke with a start. He let out a little yelp and sat upright, glancing nervously around him in the darkness. Beside him, Aragorn stirred. The man grabbed his wrist.

"What is it?" Aragorn mumbled. Legolas fell back down onto his pillows to calm his beating heart. Images flashed before his eyes, vivid images. He felt the dirt on his face again, hear the anguished cries of men, saw the destruction, the death, an elf's head speared upon a stick, still bleeding, pieces of tattered flesh swinging in the breeze...

"'Twas only a dream," Legolas whispered, more to himself. "It was only a dream, nothing more." Aragorn opened his storm-grey eyes and stared long and hard into his lover's face. He could see worry stamped across it, something the elf was skilled at hiding most times. Whatever was wrong was no simple matter.

"Tell me about it," Aragorn responded. "For I see it has shaken you deep in your core." He pulled Legolas closer. The elf buried his face in Aragorn's soft tunic, trembling in the man's embrace. Aragorn stroked his silky tresses. "Shhh, it is fine. Come, speak of this dream of yours."

"It was so real," Legolas mumbled. "It was so real I thought I was there, running along the broken paths, watching the rich land wither and die, the trees burning, the cities crumbling, whole towns massacred...the elves...and...and..."

"Calm down," Aragorn said quietly. "Start from the beginning and take this very slowly. Just work through it." Legolas took a deep, shaky, breath.

"I stood upon a hilltop when it began, and below me I could see plains stretching out far. They were green and fresh, spring just upon them. The sun shone high above, and birds swooped around me. It was the Pelennor, I am sure now. In the distance Minas Tirith shone, the bright towers glowing in the sunlight. Trumpets rang as they broke the clear air. Even these horns of men moved me. I took a step forward, then another, running down the hill in hopes to reach this mystical city in the distance.

"But darkness fell in about me. With every step, the land behind me withered, and clouds grew overhead. The carcasses of birds fell from the sky. The air became thick, hard to breathe; I slowed and crumpled to the ground. All around the springtime fields wilted, the grass shriveling, the sky black and heavy. Minas Tirith shone no more but stood silent and alone. It was alone. Behind it the mountains of Mordor towered, reaching for the endless sky above. I let out a long cry for the world around me. Oh, Aragorn, how can I begin to describe this to you, this feeling of desertion, that in all of the darkness I was powerless, alone. And there was nothing I could do to stop it. It would press on, no matter what I did.

"So I ran on. I ran towards Minas Tirith, weeping, calling out your name. Aragorn, you were in that city. What if you were dead? What if something happened to you, some harm befell you? I know now that is not so, but it was sickening. Minas Tirith grew before me steadily, until I passed through its broken gates, and into the city of stone. No, it was not a city. It was a graveyard." Legolas paused, catching his breath. His mind's eyes projected those visions far too clearly back at him, just as they had been in the dream. Aragorn waited patiently for him to continue.

"There were bodies strewn everywhere, all of them dead, mutilated humans. Blood ran below my feet as if it were a river from the highest tower of Ethelion. I slipped on the slick stones, scrambling to make it to you, locked away behind your walls in the highest level of the city. I dared not look left or right to avoid the sight of the mutilated corpses, the strewn pieces of humans, limbs, heads, anything that Mordor could get its hands on to cut. The smell of decay was strong. Aragorn, I felt weak, queasy. I am an elf and I felt that!

"But I pressed on. Hours passed, it felt, before I reached the garden. The dead tree stood in the middle of it, but by the tree's feet was a sword. It was broken, Aragorn. _It was Andúril!_" Legolas sobbed into the man's tunic, rocking back and forth. "It was Andúril, broken once more, lying at the base of the Dead Tree. I ran farther, through the maze of plants, until I reached the palace.

"I can go no further," he said. Aragorn held him. He whispered quiet words into the distressed elf's ear. Legolas had many vivid dreams, as most elves did, but it had never brought him to tears, not at this level. Not even when Legolas foresaw future events did he weep for it, no matter how grievous.

"That is enough if you only want to confide that much," Aragorn assured him. "You can tell the rest later, when you are not so deeply shaken. Now, rest, sweet. You should rest for now. We still have time to sleep before departing from Edoras." Legolas shook his head.

"Are you alive?" he asked. "Aragorn, answer me this: are you alive?" Aragorn smiled and kissed Legolas upon the head.

"If I was not, would I speak to you as I am now? Yes, I am alive. Take heart in that." Aragorn lowered Legolas to the bed, settling himself beside the elf. Legolas stared ahead of him, over Aragorn's shoulder. "Now please Legolas, get some sleep. I doubt that dream would come back to you again." Legolas shook his head.

"I will rest but I will not sleep. I will not dare close my eyes to see those images again. Aragorn...I will not dare to see you dead again!" He clutched Aragorn, hysterical sobs shaking his body. "I won't see you die. I won't see you die. I won't, I won't." Aragorn shifted to hold Legolas again.

"Repeat that?" Aragorn asked. His senses prickled. Legolas moaned, punctuating it with a short sob. "No, Legolas, you don't have to repeat it. I am sorry now. Come, rest your head."

And so morning came, the sun rising above the clouds to bathe Edoras in golden light. The world though was quiet now, with Edoras almost empty. Théoden and his men had ridden forth, the mustering of Rohan already begun. Legolas rose with the sunrise, busying himself with packing his provisions to keep the images of his dream from springing unbidden into his head. Aragorn woke soon after, but he said nothing to his lover, instead staring at Legolas with saddened eyes. The elf's face was colorless, no light coming from his fair features, his hair limp around him.

When the pair had finished, they went as one from their room to the main hall of Edoras. Gimli waited for them there, lounging against a pillar, but he was alone in the hall. There was a table set beside him with three plates.

"I see you finally stir," Gimli said. Legolas nodded and collapsed on the bench, Aragorn sitting beside him. Gimli plopped down and picked up a spoon. Soon, the three were busy eating their meals, all in silence. Gimli glanced up once and a while, only to see Legolas and Aragorn engrossed in their own food. Legolas sometimes cast a worried stare at Aragorn, and Aragorn would reach over and squeeze the elf's hand, but nothing was said between them.

They finished their meal, and made their way outside. Horses were waiting for them, pawing the chill morning air. And around them stood the Grey Company, mounted already, their cloaks billowing in the wind. Elrohir smiled at the three, inclining his head towards the waiting mounts. Aragorn nodded solemnly; in front of him waited the Paths of the Dead, and it he could not turn away from that fact now. He clasped Legolas' hand before mounting his horse.

"Wait, wait!" a small voice cried. Legolas looked down to see Merry running towards him with all of his speed. He came to a halt in front of the horses, panting. Aragorn dismounted to speak with him.

"Please," Merry begged, "Let me go with you. I could not go to battle with the men, for none would bear me, thinking I could not fight, and the pony I was given could not keep up with their steeds. So I am alone here at Edoras, without my friends and companions. I must come with you!" Aragorn knelt and put a hand on Merry's shoulder.

"I am sorry, but our road is more perilous that that of King Théoden and his men. So here you must stay, Merry. If I could, I would bear you myself, but there is not time. I know that you would be a welcome addition to our company. Still, you must remain here." Merry shook his head.

"Please, Strider...Aragorn, please let me come." But Aragorn was mounting his horse. He looked upon Merry with sad eyes, but with one command, the Grey Company turned their mounts and trotted away.

"Strider, wait, Legolas, Gimli, wait! Don't go!" But they disappeared over the rise, and Merry found himself standing alone on the wind-blown hill, his last companions fading into the shadows of the east.

And so the Grey Company departed from Edoras. The women of Rohan watched them leave, lining the streets. A lone bird cried, tumbling through the winds to follow behind the riders. And so once again, Edoras was left emptied except for a few women and wounded men that could not ride out with the rest. And some women wept, for elves though they were, Lord Aragorn rode at their front, and there was little doubt in most minds that they Grey Company would no longer set foot upon the hill of Edoras.

The bird cried again before diving below the horizon and out of sight.

----------

By evening, the company had come to Dunharrow. Aragorn dismounted and spoke briefly with some of the men there before motioning for the rest of the company to follow.

"They have lodgings for us, and food also," he said to the elves. Aragorn sprang on his horse and rode beside Legolas. "Lodgings for rest, might I point out." Legolas shook his head.

"I am sorry, Aragorn," he whispered. Aragorn reached out between them and placed a hand on Legolas's arm. "But...something is wrong, still, something in the air." Aragorn pressed him, but Legolas would say no more, instead bowing his head with closed eyes. He felt so weary. The bleakness of the world weighed heavy on him, in his soul, trapping him in a cage of perpetual darkness. He looked around. The men at Dunharrow gave him strange looks, along with the other elves, though their eyes came to rest on Lord Aragorn and it was only with pity. They whispered amongst themselves of the cunning of the elves, and their sly ways, yet how Lord Aragorn would not let them mislead the men. Had you heard of the battle at Helm's Deep, they said? Did you not hear of the elf that rides here now, how he betrayed the men and fled from them, too cowardly to fight when they needed him most? Elves could not be trusted, no.

Legolas dismounted, tethering his horse outside a tent for him and Aragorn. Aragorn was conversing with one of the men who watched over the encampment. Legolas placed his pack on the ground and collapsed onto the bed. His head spun and he was unsteady on his feet.

Suddenly, he heard the crackle of feet on grass. Legolas sat up, all his senses alert. There was a shadow on the outside of the tent, creeping closer towards the door. Legolas looked to his other side to see one mirroring the first. He made no move to alert them, casually rising and sauntering to his pack. Their footsteps continued, and he caught the quickness of their breath. He smirked; they feared him, greatly.

But another set of footsteps came. Legolas saw the shadows straighten, moving normally now. Some said a few words to Aragorn, but the man scowled at them and pushed open the tent flap.

"I fear that if there is any danger, it will not come from the outside but from within. These men hate elves, and there is no way to get around that." Aragorn pulled Legolas into his lap, running his hands through the elf's silky hair. He gazed over the top of Legolas's head, into the distance far away.

"What troubles you?" Legolas asked. He placed a hand on Aragorn's cheek.

"Then I expect that you are feeling better?" Legolas nodded. "No, I have no troubles, Legolas, only those that await me, but those I must face. And you?"

"I am fine, as you assumed before," Legolas said. "Maybe it was only a dream, no matter how real it felt to me at the time." He scanned the outside of the tent. "But...those men...Aragorn, they cannot go on like this. What is it about us that they do not trust? What have we ever done to make the assume that we are evil?"

"I do not know," Aragorn said. "I have pondered this, but nothing comes to mind. But I doubt that the few men here pose a threat. With the warriors all gone to follow Théoden, these men are those that cannot fight, so they could not harm us." But Aragorn closed his eyes. "I hope," he whispered. "If they come in enough numbers, there is a chance that they could do us damage, but otherwise, there should be no harm..." Legolas put his finger to Aragorn's lips.

"Don't say anything. Just sit." Legolas rested his head on Aragorn's shoulder. He heard Aragorn's breathing calm. And Legolas began to softly sing. It was a song from his childhood, one that he had heard the elves sing to each other often. Aragorn sighed and closed his eyes, humming to himself as the elf sang the words.

_From darkness I stepped_

_Into your arms_

_From a dream I awoke_

_Into your warmth_

_So why now when all the world _

_Crumbles, do you desert me?_

"Legolas," Aragorn whispered. "There was once a day when I could sit like this with you without having my mind working constantly at the problems around me. You were relief."

"What troubles you? Will you not tell me?"

_I came to your life_

_Only to find you slipping_

"I...I have many troubles, but they are my burdens, Legolas. I would not wish the weight of them on your shoulders also." Aragorn's grey eyes shimmered in the light from the candle. He seemed so distant, far from Legolas's grasp though he had his arms wrapped around the Ranger...no, Aragorn had no longer the look of that freer ranger of his past. Here were the troubles of a king.

"Aragorn, you're fading from me." Aragorn chuckled, nuzzling Legolas's neck.

"How could I ever slip from you, meleth nin? You are my golden prince, the elf that I have lived through these tiresome years for. The only way I could fade from you is if I died." Legolas hung his head.

"No, Aragorn, there is another way. Death...death might come, yes, but otherwise, you will become a king, one that even if, by chance, I stood beside him, I would not see his inner feelings ever again." Aragorn took Legolas's chin in his hand.

"I have not heard words like these from you for years. What brings this skepticism now? For as well as you hide it, I know what troubles you." Aragorn's hand graced Legolas's cheek. "I would not dare leave your side, whether the people of Gondor would wish it or not. When this war comes to a close, they will need a king. I will lead them with you by my side."

_In my hour of need_

_You deserted my cause_

_And left me for dead on this forsaken shore_

"But look at the men of Rohan!" Legolas shouted. "Look at them! I assisted them in battle, saved their country, and what do they do you repay me? They attempt to kill me! Would men accept a king like that? Aragorn...I can not help but think that in the end we _will _be apart. Something is wrong, Aragorn, something that should not be wrong. I don't think that...my mind does not trust the path that men trod now."

"There is no other path."

"Exactly. There is an old elvish saying that 'when you walk the road of life, there are shortcuts, twists and turns to the sides, each branching to another, but there is only one path that is solitary through this: the path of death'."

_I embraced death_

_And death shall take me_

_Now that you have gone_

"I will not die."

"How can I trust you? How can I trust you when your voice trembles like it does. I...I saw you almost slip towards death. I saw you on what should have been your deathbed but for some miracle. I, I myself could have fallen on that day and should have. Aragorn, I am immortal. I've fought in battle before, but that one...that one was suicide, and I knew that. I knew that as the Uruk-hai pressed around me, as I was vulnerable, with Éowyn in my arms while she died. Yes, there's another. Éowyn died, one of the strongest warriors I saw amongst those men.

"And I did see you die, Aragorn. If only in a dream, I saw your tunic splattered in blood, the ground around you stained red, your glassy eyes gazing to a sky only you could see."

_So sail away, sail_

_And leave me here alone_

"I lied," Legolas said. "It was not only a dream, I am sure. The path we are on only leads to your downfall, the downfall of the world! I will not have that happen. I would die before that happened. I would die before I let you fade from me." Aragorn cradled Legolas to his chest.

_I've listened before_

_And I've cried before and_

_Waited before for your tears_

_But they have not fallen from your skies_

Aragorn opened his mouth to speak, but shut it. No, now was not the time. Instead, he held Legolas close to him, whispering in elvish to the distraught elf. Mortality made Legolas shudder. And it should. For most of his life he was in the company of elves; any battles fought were with other immortals, stronger, faster, more skillful then men. But this world was foreign to him. Men could fall with simply a knife through them. Trivial wounds could bring death.

And it was in these times that Legolas faced the truth of his own beloved's mortal lifespan.

"Lord Aragorn, Lord Aragorn, for the Valar's sake Estel, come here now!" Aragorn's head jerked up. Suddenly, he was very aware of the commotion outside of the tent. And the use of his childhood name pulled him from his thoughts.

Elrohir tore open the tent flap. He stopped in front of Legolas and Aragorn. Legolas looked very listless to the world, but he appeared to be coming to his senses, and Aragorn was already moving to dislodge himself from the elf.

"The men...even if they were wounded...and the women too," Elrohir panted. Aragorn turned his ears to the outside, where he could hear shouting and sometimes the screams of a dying man. He seized his sword from the beside and turned to help Legolas. But Legolas was already moving, snatching his two white knives from his pack. The three sprinted from the tent.

Outside, not far from Legolas and Aragorn's lodgings was a scuffle between the men of Rohan and the elves. It had not been going on long. The elves were having no trouble suppressing the men, but it was not without bloodshed. And to Legolas's horror he saw elvish bodies also, not many, but enough as it was.

"Stop, stop this madness!" Aragorn shouted. Some men paused, long enough to be held at bay by elves. "Drop your weapons now. I command you to cease this battle!" When there was still resistance from the men, Aragorn drew his sword. "If you do not stop yourself I will obliged to do so myself." The men dropped their weapons, and the elves let their hands fall to their sides, though they did not relinquish their grip on any weapons.

"Now," Aragorn said. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Lord Aragorn, we..." a man began, but Elrohir held up his hand.

"No, all they will say is rubbish. I already pulled one aside and asked the meaning of this but he gave me no decent reply. These men attacked us as we were in our tents. Elladan was smart enough to summon the elves to the center so there would be fewer men slain. There was nothing justified by this attack, simply their falsely rooted hatred of elves..."

"What is false about it?"

"Have you seen an elf before today? No? So why should you hate us? If you have never seen us how can you judge us?" And so the battle began anew, but with words instead of blades. The Rohirrim leapt for their weapons, shouting curses at the elves, but the elves met them with resistance, driving them away from the discarded implements.

"Enough, enough!" Aragorn bellowed. "Now, I do believe that the fighting should have ended before. There was no reason to this. Look, men of the Rohirrim, at your losses. Look around you. Then look to the elves. Did you obviously believe there was reason to risk the lives of all around you to bring down these elves? Are they that much of devils to you? Now, all of you, go, and I want no more trouble. You are all wounded, whether from now or from before, and you have endangered the women who sought refuge here. Go in shame and rethink your ideas before striking once more against the elves!" He turned away, a head on his forehead, and Legolas wrapped an arm around him.

"Assess the dead," he whispered. "And I guessed this was simply an outpost for those fleeing from Edoras. Legolas attempted to guide him away, but Aragorn shook him off. "No, I'll go assist them now." He and Legolas picked their way through the bodies. Mostly men, a scattering of elves. The elves were silent as they went about their work. Legolas knelt beside a body and turned it over. It was an elf, first kicked at by the men then stabbed through the middle. Legolas searched his memory for his face...but found he did not have to look far.

"No..."

----------

Legolas walked into his tent, weary, spent. His eyes were glittering with unshed tears. Aragorn looked up from where he sat on their bed.

"Both have passed," Legolas whispered. "Elrohir could not stand the pain, and..."

"So we have lost ten then?"

"Yes." Legolas fell upon the bed, resting his head on Aragorn's chest, letting the man's steady breathing calm his heart. "I...I still cannot grasp that they would be dead. They were such good friends..."

"I know," Aragorn whispered. "But Elladan fell in the battle. He fought bravely, from what I gathered from Elrohir, and Elrohir could not live without his twin, could not handle the world without his twin by his side. I can understand that. Sadness befell them." Aragorn closed his eyes.

The Grey Company had fallen, broken without the others. Helpless men of Rohan had died from their own follies. The Paths of the Dead lay before them, and yet Aragorn doubted he could bring himself to muster the dead army, have them follow him to the battle beyond. Elves had died on this day, broken in the dark times. His own foster brothers, Elrohir and Elladan, had perished, Elladan by a sword, and Elrohir by his grief.

Aragorn turned to the troubled elf beside him, Legolas's eyes shut but his breath shaky, and wondered what other causalities would befall them ere the end of these dark times.

--------------------

Well, two more characters off the list. –takes out clipboard and crosses off names- Let's see, who's left on here? Hmm, I might off that one next, but no, that's for later...or maybe him...OH, wouldn't that death be fun...Mwahahhahahahahahaha!

I hope now it's coming clear some of the reasons for me changing some things like I did. Now, I won't say anything in particular, but hopefully you are catching on to what this all is building too. Next chapter it should come very clear, much clearer, PAINFULLY CLEAR.

So if you don't see it now, you'll just have to wait until then!


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